Next....

The most important rule of the road to remember in Haiti is that the right of way goes to the biggest vehicle. This is important to remember if you are a pedestrian. When I am walking along the road in America, I am used to cars swerving into the other lane to make sure I have enough room. If there is a car in that other lane, the car on my side will still swerve away from me, if not so far. In Haiti, cars zip past within inches of pedestrians, and the people don't even flinch-- that's just the way things are. There is almost a trust on both sides: You're not going to rush out in front of my car and You aren't going to hit me. People start crossing the road with speeding traffic coming because they know the vehicles will never stop for them and there are no traffic lights. (Well, actually, I did see one working traffic light.)

This rule also means that pickup trucks have the right-of-way over cars, buses have the r-of-w over small trucks, and large trucks reign supreme. Speed is also important. You may pass a slower vehicle in front of you at any time. Just make sure that your vehicle is bigger than the oncoming traffic so they will get out of your way; if you are unable to see the oncoming traffic, lay on the horn so anyone on the other side of the curve can hear you coming.

The public buses, called tap-taps, are often so crowded that people are sitting on the roof. There is a picture here, not taken by me, that shows this. Can you imagine holding onto the roof as your bus zooms around a corner passing a car?

On Sunday we made the half-hour journey to the school in Leogane for church. The school is behind a metal gate that opens into a dry, dusty courtyard. It is only dry and dusty because of the time of year; at other times it is muddy. The school is a long cinder-block building of about 4 classrooms with a cement porch. There are folding chairs on the dirt next to the porch and school benches have been pulled out of classrooms onto the porch. We sat in the back.

The service was in Creole, which sounded a lot like French to me. "Mwen" is "me" or "I" and sounds a lot like "moi." "Thank you" has become something that sounds like "messy" instead of "merci," and the one Kreyol word we all knew was "bonjou." Knowing those three words on Sunday didn't really help much in understanding what was going on, so instead I looked at the people around me.

Right in front of us was a row of little girls, each with the very dark skin typical of Haitians and with elaborately braided hair. A girl might have ten braids in her hair, all with bright plastic barrettes or ribbons at the end of them. They were wearing dresses that looked like they had been American girls' Easter outgrown dresses with lacy socks turned down at the cuff so that the lace about covered the shoes. There were a few girls who had on one dress shoe and one flip-flop sandal, as if they only had the one good shoe and it was better to wear half a pair of dressy shoes to church than no dressy shoes.

This was also my first taste of what it might be like to be a rock star-- on a much smaller scale, of course. We were sitting in the back row listening to the service and more people kept coming into the yard. Several of the children, six or eight years old, came over to us to kiss our cheeks. A few stayed, holding one of our hands or putting their head on someone's shoulder. During one part of the service, we were introduced and asked to go up front and say something to the crowd of about 75 people. On our way up and on our way back to our seats, children with huge smiles were stretching out their hands to try to touch us, loving it when they got high 5's or a brush of our fingers. I felt a little uncomfortable with the adulation, but by the end of the week I did come to really like kids wanting to hold my hand.

There's more for Sunday, but I need a break. Lata.